"Hey Laurens," Jefferson calls out as I make my way up the statehouse steps. "That cobbler was divine!"

I wince as Alex stiffens beside me and he looks from me to Jefferson and then back to me. "How does he know what your cobbler tastes like?"

I take in a deep breath and brace myself. "He came to dinner Friday. You know how Angelica and I are. She insists I make the cobblers in the house."

"You ACTUALLY hosted him in your house for dinner? John! It's Jefferson," Alexander snaps, as though that is explanation enough for his anger, and to be fair, in Alex's mind this is most likely the case.

"He's actually not that bad, and pretty funny when politics are set aside," I shrug. "His thoughts on slavery are interesting, something that I can revisit with him while minding my temper and with Angelica to buffer and put in her own reasoning perhaps progress can be made on that front in time. I have already resolved myself to emancipation being a cause that will take a lot of time to progress to true liberty for all. First, we must get them to listen to our reasoning before we pull at their purse strings. He was actually very respectful of my position as an abolitionist, though surprised given my origins as a Southerner."

Alex is speechless, and my growing knack for leaving him in this state of confusion leaves me amused, though I am careful to keep my expression neutral, lest he unload on me later.

"Come on we have a meeting to attend," I say as we continue inside, Jefferson following closely.

As we settle into our seats, Washington going over the agenda, I lean over and whisper, "Maybe you should consider taking Burr's advice in this matter. If you don't get the votes, not only is your plan in jeopardy, but your position as Secretary of Treasury as well. If you proposed a compromise, get Jefferson on your side, or at least open to the idea, you stand a better chance of establishing your legacy. Put aside your temper, yes it has gotten you this far, but in this your temper is a threat. Perhaps a meeting with Jefferson and Madison. I know you and Madison were close at one point before he took opposition with your ideas for a national banking system."

Once the meeting concludes, I sigh, Jefferson cannot resist the temptation to take a dig at Alexander, "Hey Hamilton, you still don't have the votes."

I expect an explosion, instead, Alexander looks at me and chews his bottom lip for a moment before finally saying, "Perhaps we can have our own meeting to discuss further details of my plan, perhaps take some suggestions from your perspective."

"I would find this agreeable as long as you can be civil Hamilton," Jefferson says thoughtfully.

"This Friday, my house. I will have dinner by six," I reply.

"Isn't your wife upstate?" Jefferson asks.

I chuckle, "We have prepared enough meals together that I can manage, and my cobbler is superior to hers. If you would extend the invitation to Madison?"

Jefferson nods, "Yeah, I'll let Jemmy know. It's a date Hamilton," Jefferson finishes and blows an air kiss to Alexander. I place a stern hand on Alexander's shoulder to keep him from reacting.

"You do realize this will probably be a disaster, right?" Alexander says, and I laugh and rub the back of my neck, strongly suspecting this to be an understatement, but I also plan to send my notes on Alexander's plan to Jefferson and Matterson to give them further clarity into Alexander's idea for a national bank, that doesn't involve him telling them to kiss his ass.

As the night of dinner grows closer, I am surprised by the subdued behavior of my dear Alexander. He is not as loud, not as abrasive, and not as talkative. This behavior strikes me as very strange, but then again, I have seen him quiet and driven, always when writing. There are times where I catch him writing during some of the meetings. Perhaps he is revising the plan, thinking of compromises, though it is odd he is not sharing this with me or seeking revisions.

A week passes with surprising swiftness. I make sure that Alexander will be okay on his own following our recess for lunch on Friday. I get nods and brief reassurances.

As I am leaving to go home, having already announced that I would take my leave early, Jefferson catches up to me on the steps of the building. He claps me on the shoulder and I turn to him.

"I know you said dinner is at six, expect my arrival to be early, I have some questions for you before the fighting starts," Jefferson says.

I raise a brow. "How early?"

"Today adjourns at three, so I will be there at four. Jemmy will arrive at six on the dot, he's punctual like that. What about Hamilton?" Jefferson asks.

I sigh. "Given that he is at present working himself to distraction he might be late. I have arranged a courier to remind him of the hour at a quarter to six."

"Seems about right. Is he sulking over our arrangement this evening? I've never seen him so quiet," Jefferson says.

I shrug. "It appears he is working to some end. He gets like this in an extreme bout of concentration."

"It's unsettling. I've grown so use to our debates, that it troubles me when he doesn't object or challenge me," Jefferson replies, "But that is something for us to discuss in greater confidence later. I imagine you have quite a bit to do to prepare for this evening."

I take my leave of Jefferson, stop by the market, and the butcher, and within the hour I am at home in the kitchen. Meat seasoned with thyme, garlic, basil, salt, pepper, and a pinch of ginger. I make quick work of the vegetables, potatoes, carrots, celery, onions, add them to the roasting pan around the large slab of beef.

Checking the embers in the oven I place the dish inside and decide that I will review some papers, and perhaps get in some reading. Between my reading and checking the roast, the time passes quickly. I'm startled at the sound of the bell on the door.

I answer the door and sure enough, Jefferson is a man of his word. He is on my doorstep with a crate. He hands the crate to me and says, "Wine. It was noticeably absent the last time I broke bread with you. Considering the company will be less pleasant this time, I thought some spirits would be much desired."

I snort. "Fair point," I say in amusement as I kick the door shut and then, "Join me in the kitchen. I'll set this crate down and begin work on the cornbread and dessert."

Jefferson lifts his nose to the air and looks at me in surprise, "You've really been preparing our meal this entire time? No maid?"

I'm amused at his disbelief. "For the first three years of my marriage we lived in a very small house while Angelica's father had this one built for us as a belated wedding gift. Alexander's and Eliza's home was finished an entire year before ours. In that time, we enjoyed sharing our duties to our household. I can cook as well as my wife, and honestly, having a maid every day with my wife absent of the house is excessive. She comes three times a week to see to cleaning and preparing meals that serve me a day or so, but I'm good enough at finding my own meals."

"You, sir, are a very strange man," Jefferson replies. "Then again, your strangeness should not surprise me given your closeness to Hamilton. I am, however, honestly surprised by your level head. You are different from what I expected. I have met your father, and you are quite different from what I've heard rumored."

"I was once wild, Jefferson," I reply, and then sigh, "But it is strange the influence love has. I found someone who's temperament required that I learned restraint if I wanted to remain a significant part of their life. In meeting that need I needed to quell my impulsiveness. Getting married, having children reminds me of my need to be a better man."

"And why do I get the feeling that someone is not your wife?" Jefferson replies with a smirk.

I chuckle and tell him to get us a glass of his fancy wine and tell him where to find glasses. I begin to work on preparing the cornbread, once that is in the oven by the roast, I restoke the embers, that soft glow that will see the food is thoroughly cooked, and the meat tender.

As I begin work on peeling and cutting the apples and pears for the cobbler I have planned, Jefferson places a glass on the counter near me. "You can get a chair from the dining room."

He does as suggested, and rejoins me. Watching quietly as I add the fruit to a dish along with brown sugar and cinnamon. I then see to melting some butter on the stove, adding that to the mix. He breaks the silence as I make the pastry crust, rolling the dough in a mixture of flour, cinnamon, and brown sugar.

"So, how long have you been in love with Hamilton?" Jefferson asks thoughtfully, as he swirls the wine in his glass.

I am honestly not surprised by the question. I down the glass of wine, then cover the prepared fruit with the pastry, slip this dish into the oven as well. I make quick work of washing my hands and cleaning up the counters as Jefferson pours me another glass and looks at me with a smirk.

He does not, however, expect my answer. "Since the moment I met him, all those years ago in the tavern when he called out Burr and challenged me and Lafayette and Hercules Mulligan to greatness. I have since made it my mission to see his success. He has my loyalty. I toasted his union at his wedding, and even now here I am. He is meant for greatness, a strong legacy. It is enough for me, the life I have made with my wife and our children. I do not need the glory that Alexander does, I need only be a part of his life, some small footnote in his narrative."

"You trust me enough to tell me this?" Jefferson asks, his brow furrowed, a hmm escapes him as he takes a sip of his glass.

"In so much as you find yourself in a similar situation with Madison, yes," I reply with a smirk.

"Touché," Jefferson says and finishes off his own glass, before asking, "From what I gathered from our last dinner together, you and your wife speak of everything. Is she aware of your affections for Hamilton?"

"Have you asked that of her in the letter you wrote her?" I grin.

"She dodged the question," Jefferson says dryly.

I laugh. "It was our interest in Alexander that united us. We were both hurt the night of his wedding. We had written each other in the same span that Alexander had been writing Eliza. We knew each other well enough, knew we would be no good for anyone else, and so we sent for Lafayette and went to a chaplain. It was the best hasty decision I've ever made. She was chaste, there was no further scandal than the heartache that drove our decision to marry that morning."

"I'm surprised you trust me with any of this, Laurens. It is fairly damning."

"You forget, you were audited before Washington appointed you Secretary of State," I say with a smirk.

Jefferson's dark eyes narrow and I chuckle. "I am the one who performed the audit. It was a conflict of interest for Alexander to do it, so I was given the task, it was also to my advantage that I had knowledge in matters of the value of slaves. While Alexander was busy with Madison and Jay defending the Constitution in their papers, I was reviewing your interests, investments, and records."

"Find something did you?" he asks and bites the inside of his cheek.

"Your two daughters are not your only children I suspect. I also know about your indiscretion with Maria Cosway, for that knowledge you can thank my wife," I say, and add, "I'm sorry for the loss of Mrs. Cosway's child as well. No parent should mourn the loss of a child, however that child may have come about."

"You seem to know a lot. Is that what this is? You plan to extort me to get the votes for Hamilton's plan?" Jefferson's voice is heavy with accusation.

I take in a breath. "You threw the gauntlet in asking about my attachment to Alexander and questioning my marriage. I just think that given your knowledge, that your silence buys mine, Jefferson. I have no intention of extorting your vote. I called this dinner together for Alex to have an opportunity to cool down and actually discuss his plan in a smaller setting, perhaps come to a compromise. I will not use my knowledge to the end of extorting anything. I am a patriot, and I believe that this country should be founded on ideals and not corruption. I am not, nor have I ever been, a man like my father."

"Fair enough," Jefferson replies after refilling his glass. "You are an interesting man, Laurens. I almost feel like I've been put into check in a game of chess with someone worthy."

"I have a mind for strategy, perhaps not as sharp as my Alexander nor my Angelica, but I managed to survive the Revolution," I say, and then wince. "About that, Alexander resents that you were in France, rather than fighting with us. He is proud of his status as a veteran, and he did a lot in our efforts to win."

"He gained status in the war, and through his marriage with Elizabeth Schuyler. I know he came from nothing, an arrogant immigrant, but I can concede he is brilliant. Fifty-one of those essays were his, Jemmy told me all about it. Fifty-one, where did he find the time to write so much, not to mention the damn financial plan, how does he write that much? When does he have the time in all of his social climbing and his incessant talking?"

"The man is non-stop," I say, leaving the second glass of wine untouched. "I've only ever seen him completely still and quiet once, and that was when he met his son, Pipin, sorry Philip, for the first time. He is constantly in motion, rarely sleeps a full night, even talks in his sleep, oddly he rarely speaks English, usually French or Spanish in his sleep."

"I dare say you know a lot about his sleeping habits." The tone pointed, but not accusing, merely an observation.

"We lived together for a brief time early on in our friendship and shared a tent at times during the war. Nothing romantic has ever happened between us," I respond with a shrug.

"Fair enough," Jefferson concedes, and then he changes the subject. "To business, I reviewed the notes you gave me, the highlights of his plan. I have some concerns regarding the taxing of property and state representation in the House…"

The rest of the evening is all business. Alexander refrains from more than one glass of wine. The dinner is delicious, my culinary skills complemented, my notes and Alexander's plan reviewed, compromises met. Alexander minds his temper, is concise for once. I'm surprised by his restraint, and apparently, I am not the only one surprised by his seeming solemnity.

"Very well, Hamilton," Jefferson says, his lips drawn tight. "I will concede my vote, Jemmy and I are on the same page. We will speak to our party on your behalf to see about passing your proposal. Do not make us regret this. Your financial records had better be impeccable."

"Rest assured, I keep records of all of my transactions, personal and professional," Alexander responds.

Jefferson and Madison take their leave, Alexander stays, drinks another glass of wine and then he gets to his feet and paces. I furrow my brow, wondering what has him so restless suddenly. We did it, Jefferson will help the plan pass in the House.

"Alex?" I ask in concern.

He stops mid-pace, spins around, and then grasps my face and his lips are on mine. I startle for a moment, but then I give into a moment of weakness, give into him. My mouth opens to his, my hands go to his waist and I can't help the moan that escapes me. The kiss is fiery, and then he jerks himself away, his hand goes to his mouth, and I find myself bracing against the wall, shaken by my want for him.

"I… I…," he begins, and then, "God, John, I'm sorry."

He leaves in haste then, out the door, and gone from my driveway by the time I recover enough to try and catch up to him. I close the door, I will check on him in the morning, to follow tonight would be too risky.

Sleep does not come easy that night. There are dreams, dreams that I thought had been lain to rest years ago, his eyes and his mouth, all of him. I roll and tumble, and finally, a little before dawn I have had enough. I dress quickly and see myself to his house.

I managed to unlock the door; glad it is not barred as I let myself in. As the door closes heavily behind me, I hear a thump from upstairs and rustling. I make my way upstairs and to his bedroom, wondering if perhaps he's in the throes of one of his nightmares, or if someone has broken in and he needs help.

I open the door without a knock, and Alex is rushing to dress as quickly as he can, a strange woman with bedclothes wrapped around herself is still in his marriage bed. Alex's eyes lock on mine and I see the shame, the horror, the sorrow. I do not bother saying anything. I turn and rush down the stairs, hearing his broken voice calling out for me.

I do not stop until I am home. I waste no time in cracking open one of the bottles of wine from the night before. I make my way to my study, drinking the wine from the bottle. When I've had as much of the wine as I can stand, I pour and consume several glasses of whiskey.

It is in this state that Alexander finds me. I am not sure how much time has passed, only that I have not been this drunk since I went shot for shot with Philip Schuyler.

I am lounging on the chaise, and he bursts through the doors of my study, I turn my gaze to the floor. I don't want to look at him. Within a moment he is on the floor, kneeling before me, imploring me to look at him. I shove him back and get to my feet, I feel a bit dizzy from the drink and rising so quickly. He scrambles to his feet, reaches for me, and God help me, I hit him.

I stagger back and try to leave the study, instead he rushes me, and somehow, I end up on my back, looking up at his crooked nose, already swelling. For his size, he is surprisingly strong, and I find I am unable to get him off of me, and he has me firmly straddled beneath him. He leans down, holds my arms down. I have no doubt if I were sober, I could take him, but the haze of the alcohol is fleeting as he looks at me with those dark, sorrowful eyes.

"Please, John," he whispers as he struggles to hold me down.

I turn my head and close my eyes so I can't see him, "Why?"

"I… I don't know," he says mournfully, and then he releases my arms and grasps my face, his mouth against mine and God help me, I am willing to take whatever he is willing to give.

He pulls back, his hands running through my hair, tears trailing his face. I reach up and wipe them away, the ache in my chest deep and the fire in my belly growing, and I can tell he knows my body wants him.

"I would rather she had been you," he says, his eyes still sad, but also burning. "I feel nothing for her, she is just a woman who needed help, and then she offered herself as repayment. She means nothing to me. I wish it had been us, waking up together, I… It was all I could do to take my leave of you last night!"

My eyes narrow, my anger is back. "No, you do not get to blame this on me! You had a familiarity with that woman. When did it start? I suppose sometime this week? It would explain your subdued behavior lately. Explain yourself Hamilton," I snarl, and my strength finds me in my anger and I shove him off of me.

"John, it's… I'm weak… She was… a moment of weakness. I miss the constant affections that I am used to, and with the financial plan and Eliza and the children away," he tries to explain.

I shake my hand, "My wife and children are with them. My only moments of weakness have been with you, and never to fruition!"

"I do not have the resilience that you have my dearest Jack," he whispers quietly, relying on the affection of that name he called me in the war, his head turned to the floor in his shame.

I bite my lip and take in a breath, "Settle your affairs with the woman. Do not even burden me with her name. It is not my place to speak of this, and this is your mess. You can clean it up on your own. I won't speak of this, but mark my words, Alexander, you will pay for this one day and it will bear a heavy price. I may not deserve much by my affection, but Eliza deserves better, and my wife, my Angelica, deserves better. I need you to leave. I have to gather up my things, I'm going to ride upstate and visit my wife and children. I suggest you handle this situation, have it put to rest. I will return by Wednesday. Tell the members of the house I had an emergency, whatever you need to. You've my word I won't say anything, as this is your doing, not mine. I pray that my silence doesn't come at a price."

"I… John," he says and reaches for my arm.

I snatch it from his grasp, and respond, "I need you to leave. I have much to do and much to think about as I prepare to ride out. You needn't worry, upon my return my temper will be settled, and I am still yours. Damn you, Alexander Hamilton, I am still yours."

"And I'm yours," he whispers as he takes his leave.

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